


So I Can Die Where I Met You

by Valgus



Series: Words of Nations [14]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drama, M/M, Tragedy, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 08:32:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4557801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valgus/pseuds/Valgus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Germany knew his wound would kill him in two days with no care, but two days were more than enough to go to that forest where he met Italy for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So I Can Die Where I Met You

“Italy?”

“Yeah, Germany?”

“If you were to see Holy Roman Empire return from war, where would you like to see him, Italy?”

“Ve, Germany, we know that you were Holy Roman Empire as a child! Even though you don’t remember anything from that era, it’s fine that you’re here with me.”

“I understand, but… but if you were to see him again…”

“Ve… I guess I’d like to see him in that bridge. That bridge where he used to chase me! It’s actually the first place we met after Grandpa Rome brought me home from journey with him.”

“Ah. So you want to see him again in the first place you met him.”

“Yeah. It’s not a very beautiful bridge, but…”

“… I understand.”

Italy remembered the peculiar question from Germany like it was just yesterday. He smiled upon the memory he had of the blond nation. Today, he would visit Germany with the most beautiful flower bucket in his country.

*)*

Italy liked loving people. From pretty ladies to one and only Germany, he felt good when he spreads some love to the world, even when none of them return it. Italy never expected Germany to return his feeling, but the taller nation sticks to his side for centuries.

Before Italy knew it, they started to spend Saturday afternoon on Italy’s kitchen, mixing dough for homemade pasta. Germany would took off his cool but stiff-looking suit, rolled off his sleeves, and dirtied his strong and clean hands with flour and egg. Italy told Germany that he thought Germany was the handsomest when he made pasta. Germany sighed and asked Italy to focus on flattening the dough, but his cheeks were tomato red and he smiled when he thought Italy wasn’t looking.

Italy was truly the happiest nation on earth.

*)*

Years went by. Centuries went by. A lot of things change, from the size of telephone to how nations behave. There were a lot of good things, but there was also bad thing.

Italy was no different when the Third World War came. He was still the weakling he was, surrendering even before the war came to its half. Italy was forced to return to countryside instead of the usual Rome. Food was scarce and he could hear the sound of explosion almost every day, but Italy didn’t lose hope. He shared all he had with the people on the village, asking them not to worry about him because he was a country and he didn’t need food as much as human. His stomach growled all the time and sometimes Italy was reduced to force himself to make pasta before he starved to death.

So Saturday afternoon started to be filled with making pasta alone, where Italy couldn’t help but to remember a certain blue-eyed nation who was away in the war. Germany became such an integral part of his life that Italy knew he couldn’t even wake up without getting reminded to his other—better half. Italy wanted to see Germany so much that he screamed to his pillow, sobbing and tearing up, but he stopped crying whenever he made pasta. If only people were agree to “make pasta, not war”…

Dusting the counter with flour before putting his pasta dough, Italy looked at the kitchen’s window, to meadow and forest outside, to hope of war end and peace. In the Second World War, everybody made it alright. Nobody died. Surely, everybody would be alright to on this Third World War. 

So one day, Germany would come home, Italy promised himself. One day, Germany would walk to this very house of Italy’s, bruised and exhausted, but smiling upon the sight of Italy. Then they would make pasta again on Saturday afternoon and everything would be alright again.

Surely.

*)*

Germany breathed raggedly through his bloodied nose and mouth. After the war destroyed communication and human was once again reduced to no wire communication, Germany thought everything became incredibly inconvenient. It was only on his moments like this, when he couldn’t even stand without falling immediately to the ground, he was glad that the news of his defeat would take days to travel.

This war was worse than the Second, Germany believed. Not only that a lot of human and nations had lost their dignities to the point they would do anything to annihilate other, but the damage they caused the nature was possibly irreparable. Germany cursed and growled at war and his own immense pain, but strangely, this felt like a déjà vu. 

If he were Holy Roman Empire, though he didn’t have any memory of those times, maybe he had died like this once. Germany laughed alone, in the rubble and among dead bodies.

It’s okay, he thought. He had died once. This couldn’t be any worse than that.

Germany knew his wound would kill him in two days with no care, but two days was more than enough to go someplace.

So Germany started his very painful final journey alone. He put anything edible inside his mouth and drank on rivers and destroyed as he made his way to the South. At night, he slept under the stars. The sky was strangely clear that summer. Germany smiled with a memory of certain country in mind.

He didn’t know whether he arranged for Italy to drop the war as soon as possible, but war was no place for such a loving soul like Italy. Italy deserved all the happiness—and perhaps pasta—in the world. Italy was the most precious person for Germany and Germany would do anything to keep Italy smiling.

When the morning came, Germany could no longer feel his right leg, but he didn’t care. He moved forward. He had a place to go.

He had a place to die at.

*)*

That speck of wood didn’t look anything special. The very spot where a tomato crate sat almost two hundred years ago was now a grown tree and Germany didn’t know that a sight of ordinary forest in Italy could make him so happy he laughed even though his ribcage felt like breaking apart. 

He dragged himself to the tree and used his last strength to lean himself to the very tree.

It all started here.

All his memory he has on happiness started here.

Of course, he wasn’t exactly happy when he met a very lame grandson of Roman Empire here, but after that life could only get brighter for him. He found friend. He found happiness. He found laughter. He found comfort. He found love.

He found Italy.

Germany didn’t know whether country would go to heaven after they die, but Germany didn’t care too much about that. He lived in heaven once—heaven of Saturday afternoon where he made pasta.

And that was enough.

That was very much enough for his whole life.

*)*

Italy accidentally cut his finger when he was slicing the pasta dough into long slices. He watched blood trickled from his finger as he felt incredibly out of place. It felt like someone was calling him. But no one was around. Not even the villager. Italy felt his heart drumming furiously on his chest and he looked around. No one was around.

But then, as if his legs had mind of their own, he ran to the forest. He didn’t know why, but he ran with all his might there, still on his apron and his house slipper. Italy ran and ran and ran.

And the he found him.

Germany sat against the tree of the spot where the tomato crate sat years and years ago. His lower body was terribly injured and blood, fresh and dried, was all over his upper body. His eyes were closed and his lips were tugged into a smile.

‘If you were to see Holy Roman Empire return from war, where would you like to see him, Italy?’

‘So you want to see him again in the first place you met him.’

‘I understand.’

Germany understood.

Italy walked very slowly towards his most precious person and knelt next to him. 

“Welcome home, Germany.”

Then Italy cried. He cried and screamed so hard, but Germany didn’t open his blue eyes again.

*)*

The flower bucket was a little heavy, so Italy was sweating when he finally reached his destination. Germany would tell him that his physical strength is lacking and that Italy should do more pushups. Italy promised himself to do forty pushups that night, but for now, he had to deliver the flower bucket to Germany.

Italy buried Germany under the tree that was now growing bigger and stronger than ever. He visited Germany once a year, on the day where Germany used all his remaining power to crawl back into the place they first met.

Italy still remembered those heavenly Saturday afternoons. He still made pasta on Saturday afternoon, only that now he allowed himself to cry, to smile again, to cry again on his pasta dough, to smile again for such wonderful memories he had with Germany.

_Smile, Darling, don’t be sad  
Stars are gonna shine tonight_

_Tell me where the good men go_  
Before I wash away  
Walk me down the old brick road  
So I can die where I met you 

_Hold me like we're going home_  
Turn your tears to rain  
Bury me beautiful  
Heaven knows how I loved you 

_So I can die where I met you_

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this piece was stemmed from the title, which was taken from Five For Fighting's song, "Heaven Knows", which, for most of you, is a very special song related to a certain fan fiction.
> 
> I'd like to think that Germany had his own way of thinking and that Italy didn't always understand him thoroughly. But maybe Germany understood. Maybe he already used all his power to understand Italy and what makes Italy sad or happy, even after he went to eternity.
> 
> I'm sorry. (For a lot of thing.)
> 
> Thank you for reading "So I Can Die Where I Met You".


End file.
